Fifteen Years
by Admiral von Cha-Cha
Summary: Because things happen when you're posted in Britain for fifteen years. Fifteen drabbles from the perspective of different Knights over the time they spend serving the Empire.
1. Tristran: Hunger

**Disclaimer (this applies to all the chapters): I don't own King Arthur, nor any of the characters etc.**

**Because I'm in the middle of exams – and therefore, it's PROCRASTINATION TIME! – I thought I'd do a piece with a drabble (100 words exactly) for each year the Knights served in Britain. Not chronological, not one for every year or anything like that, just fifteen random shots (I went through my dictionary and randomly chose fifteen words, so some of them may seem a bit obscure!). Hope you enjoy, and please drop me a line and tell me what you thought! Oh, and I won't post them all at the same time – I guess I should leave **_**some **_**time for study… **

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**1. Tristran: Hunger**

They always travelled light on missions, taking with them only what they needed. "Soldier's rations," Arthur said, though Tristran silently agreed with Bors when he proclaimed it to be "bugger all". As the days passed, smothered with snow and caked with mud, he would see Hawk flying far above, following invisible pathways of breezes and cloud. His cold, hungry brothers urged him to teach the "bloody thing" to hunt for them, but Tristran knew better. She was her own creature; no chains would bind her.

Unlike us, he thought bitterly. Wings clipped, _we_ hunt for the Empire.

Fight, or die.


	2. Bors: Knee

**2. Bors: Knee**

Barmaids hurried everywhere, and the air was sweaty and sour. In a corner, a few men played at dice, howling with laughter.

A Roman, roaring drunk, stood up suddenly and tried to grope a pretty red-haired barmaid, causing her to drop her tray of tankards.

"You poxy, filth-ridden bastard!" she shouted furiously, jabbing her knee viciously into the soldier's groin. As he crumpled to the ground, she straightened her dress and, with a wicked grin, marched back to the bar.

"I think I'm in love," growled Bors appreciatively. "What's 'er name?"

"Vanora. She'll hate you," said Gawain morosely.

"We'll see."


	3. Arthur: Braid

**3. Arthur: Braid**

Battles are all very well and good: it's only afterwards that you begin to come apart.

In the chill silence that always followed a skirmish, Gawain and Galahad would sit by the edge of the fire, and the younger Knight would braid Gawain's long, tawny hair. After cleaning away the gobbets of gore and blood, he would tie and knot complicated, intricate braids, his young face expressionless. _God help him, _prayed Arthur sadly. _He's only thirteen. _

"Sarmatian tradition," Tristran had grunted when he saw Arthur staring. "Helps them forget."

Forgetting was wonderful. Arthur only wished that he knew how to.


	4. Tristran: Sarcasm

**4. Tristran: Sarcasm**

Galahad looked uneasy as Tristran licked a smear of blood from his hand.

"That's disgusting."

"No, it's not."

Galahad scowled and they rode in silence for a few moments. Tristran gritted his teeth as the pup shifted in his saddle, evidently preparing for another lecture. And here… it… comes.

"Tristran, you shouldn't do things like that. Who knows where it's been?"

_So predictable, he's barely even worth it. But oh well. _"Most likely in the Woad's veins, hmm?"

"That's not what I…"

"Look, I was hungry. Alright?" Tristran struggled to keep a straight face at Galahad's horrified expression.

"Tristran!"

"Sarcasm."


	5. Dagonet: Predatory

**5. Dagonet: Predatory**

Oh, they had their dyes and markings, symbols and spears. Some thought them primitive, predatory. Others feared them, ghostly presences in the deep forests, feeding fireside tales of horror. _They feel no pain._ _They know no fear. If fatally wounded, they die with defiance in their eyes, screaming ancient curses._

How wrong they all were.

Dagonet had killed Woads young and old, had seen some piss their bracae with fear, and had seen many beg for death. No ancient curses: only choked screams, gasps, retching. He found no joy in battle.

For all are prey, in the end. Even himself.


	6. Dagonet: Repulsive

**6. Dagonet: Repulsive**

"How could you?" muttered Tristran into his ale mug, glowering over the rim at Dagonet.

"She's not that bad," Dagonet replied, raising an eyebrow. "What's got you so worked up?"

"It's repulsive," said the scout flatly, putting down his mug and beginning to slice up an apple. "They're like a plague. Everyone seems incapable at stopping at one." He shook his head in disgust.

"Eleven or nothing," agreed the tall man from where he sat on the rushes. "But they are likeable, you know."

"I despise children," growled Tristran adamantly.

Dagonet sighed resignedly, and returned to rocking Bors' newest offspring.


	7. Lancelot: Amulet

**7. Lancelot: Amulet**

He did not believe in luck, but he couldn't throw the bloody amulet away.

It was a part of him: the snarling head of the mountain lion engraved on his own heart. _Rus. _The cry of the warrior seemed to crouch behind its carven teeth, ready to burst forth. But only fools believed in magic.

As far as amulets went, it was effective; but he would give it up in an instant if it meant he could have his brothers back. But they were dead, and he had no God.

So he clutched the amulet tight, and wished for Home.


	8. Gawain: Negative

**8. Gawain: Negative**

"I despise Britain. I loathe Romans. Saxons disgust me. Woads are revolting savages. Have you noticed that Arthur is being insufferably noble at the moment? And this damned weather…"

"Another joyous patrol with Galahad," mumbled Gawain, rolling his eyes skywards. A bad idea. With a sigh, he tried to wipe the rain from his eyes.

"Don't even bother – it's futile," muttered the curly-haired Knight beside him. "We may as well lie down and drown." His horse slipped slightly on the muddy slope, and he snarled menacingly.

"Look, don't you think you're being a bit… negative?"

"Shut up."

"But..."

"Shut up."

**A/N: When randomly selecting a word, my finger actually landed on "Thelphusian: one of a family of crustaceans, resembling the land crab, which live in the earth near the shore", so hopefully you'll forgive me for choosing a different one… Gotta love the 1950s edition of the Westminster English Dictionary!**


	9. Arthur: Twilight

**9. Arthur: Twilight**

When twilight fell, Arthur retired to his chambers. In the cool gloom, he would light fourteen candles, one by one. _Gareth. Degore. Agravaine. Percival. Mordred. Cai. Lamorak. Alymere. Bedivere. Pelleas. Ector. Gaheris. Lionel. Palomedes. _Their names a chant in his mind; a hopeless, guilty prayer.

"By God, Artorius, you have a positive host of candles at your disposal!" exclaimed a Roman dignitary, to whom Arthur had lent his room for the night.

"The shadows are long in Britain," Arthur replied, smiling disarmingly._ Fool. You ignorant fool._

Every night, the candles burned brightly.

And the darkness could not put them out.


	10. Galahad: Guarantee

**13. Guarantee**

Galahad looked around nervously, making that all was clear. _I can't believe I'm doing this. _

"I _guarantee_ you, sir, your lady friend will _adore _these pretty posies! _Worship _you!" shrieked the vendor to a cringing Galahad.

"Erm…" _Oh, give me Woads any day over this…_

"Don't have any 'erms' today, but I do have this lovely posy!" hollered the man, shoving the flowers in Galahad's face. Desperate to get away, Galahad snatched the bunch and tossed some coin to the man.

"Thanks," he muttered, striding off hurriedly.

Next time, Bors could bloody well get the flowers for Vanora himself. Idiot.


	11. Lancelot: Enchantment

**11. Lancelot: Enchantment**

The hills rose gently from the mist, like snow-dusted flanks of sleeping horses. Beyond them, mountains pierced the sky, cold chieftains crowned with cloud, gilded with the winter sun. It was early morning, and the land seemed to be under an enchantment. Lakes were caked with ice, and the bark of bare trees seemed to crackle and glow in the sunlight.

"Bloody freezing," brayed Bors suddenly, making Lancelot jump.

"Can say that again," quavered Gawain.

"'M 'bout to die of cold," groaned Galahad mournfully.

Lancelot sighed. _Their loss. _This frost-spangled here and now was his alone, and it was magnificent.


	12. Galahad: Feeble

**12. Galahad: Feeble**

I am their brother, of course, but I am their _little _brother. The one whom everyone has to watch out for, the one that has to be tolerated, and kept from trouble. It has ever been so, and I fear it shall continue. I am a man grown, not some feeble boy.

I have killed, wounded, slaughtered, drunk ale, had women. I am a highly skilled horseman, and my aim with a bow is steady and sure. _What else must I do to prove myself? _I want to ask them. _What?_

There is no curse more terrible than eternal youth.


	13. Gawain: Obnoxious

**13. Gawain: Obnoxious**

"Children, Gawain, are like cats."

Gawain fought the urge to beat his head against the stable door. They had been grooming their horses in companionable silence, until a mangy feline jumped onto a bucket beside the scout. "How so?"

"The obnoxious creatures can sense those who hate them."

"Gods, Tristran, you make them sound…"

"… and then, they lavish their attention upon that individual."

"Is this about that mud pie incident? Because if so…"

"…I thought we agreed not to mention that."

"They _like_ you. The mud pies…"

"Do you want me to cut your throat?"

Gawain remained diplomatically silent.


	14. Bors: Nautical

**14. Bors: Nautical**

Bors stood defiantly at wildly tossing prow; the blue-grey water whipped into a frenzy of whitecaps and spray. Soaked to the skin and smelling of brine, he felt a fierce delight in the squall's fury. _It's like Vanora when I return from a mission, _he thought.

"Bors, get below decks!" came Arthur's weak shout, the commander's face the colour of cheese.

"Not very nautical, are you Artorius?" Bors cackled maniacally. He thumped his chest violently, and roared a war-cry to the gale.

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Belowdecks, the Irish princess grimaced. "Is he often so…"

"…Mad? Yes," replied Lancelot darkly. "Often, he's worse."

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**Not sure where the Irish princess sprang from, but I figure they're escorting her somewhere for the Romans.**


	15. Tristran: Imagination

**15. Tristran: Imagination**

"If freedom had a colour, what do you think it would be?"

"… Pup, that is the most ridiculous question I've ever heard." Lancelot shook his head and took a draught of ale.

Galahad scowled. "You're just trying to hide your lack of imagination."

"No, you're drunk," said Dagonet calmly.

"I am not!" cried Galahad. "Gawain, tell him…"

"He's passed out, lad."

Suddenly, Tristran looked up from cutting up his apple. "It would be green."

"What?"

"Green as envy, green as spring, green as the plains of home. That is the colour of freedom."

Galahad stared.

"Oh, er… thanks… Tristran."


End file.
